


I Heard the Word; I Couldn't Stay

by ceeainthereforthat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Rimming, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceeainthereforthat/pseuds/ceeainthereforthat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this based on a prompt by an anonymous submitter on destielpromptoftheday.tumblr.com:</p><p>"Dean and Castiel rent a motel room after a difficult hunt with the unspoken intent of having sex. Both of them know that they are there to have sex and want to have sex, but they’re afraid if they mention it they’ll get cold feet, so they don’t talk. They communicate by touch instead."</p><p>...only it turned out to be sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Heard the Word; I Couldn't Stay

Dean flopped across the bed closest to the door and wished he could disappear. The way Castiel had looked at him when he returned to heal Dean, he imagined that. Then they’d fought in the car, over Heaven and God and Cas had gone.

But then he had come back.

The look they’d shared in the car when they saw the sign out on the highway suddenly flash “vacancy”, he imagined that. Castiel had squeezed his knee because he didn’t know what it meant. But Dean had nearly run to the desk clerk’s office to check in as Ian Gillan, and rushed back to an empty Impala and no Castiel, and he was a fucking idiot. Those looks weren’t…Angels didn’t  _do_ that.

He’d never get over this.

If Sam were here (Oh God, Sammy’s gone, and the realization crushed him again) he’d say that it was normal to want to…affirm life after being so close to death. And fuck, Dean knew that. He knew it damn well, even if all those waitresses and co-eds and suits didn’t know why he’d turned a smile on them, why he invited or accepted an invitation. He washed the blood and monsters down the drain and went out to affirm life.

But he’d never gotten a signal so horribly, humiliatingly wrong.

At least he’d never said anything.

At least he’d never see Castiel again, never have to face him after that.

The door opened.

Cool air swirled inside with the angel. The crinkle of a grocery sack preceded the thump and crackle of convenience store packaging.

Castiel hadn’t left for Heaven. He’d gone for snacks.

Dean felt relief for about two seconds before anxiety bound him up again. He closed his eyes on Castiel’s level look. He could do this. Act like everything was situation normal. He could deal with this. Nothing happened. Okay. He sat up, ready to ask if Castiel had remembered the pie, ready to try and talk about Sam.

The question died in his throat.

Castiel stood next to Dean’s bed (his boots were on it, so it was his) and stared. Well, Castiel stared at him all the time. Except Castiel had never stared at Dean while his long fingers unfastened his black tie. He’d never gazed at Dean and unfastened the button below his shirt collar, and then two more. He’d never watched Dean watch him shrug out of his trenchcoat and suit jacket and toss them aside and then unfasten his shirt cuffs, all while keeping his focus completely on Dean.

Dean’s stomach flipped and his mouth went dry. Castiel noted the path Dean’s tongue took to wet his lips, and his own mouth parted, pink tongue out in a point to lick his own upper lip. Dean was on his feet before his brain caught up with him, but catch up it did, and he drew back before he could do something really, really stupid.

Castiel frowned. Dean didn’t know if that was because he got up in his space, or because he hadn’t—

When it came, Castiel moved so slowly it seemed like Dean had half a minute to move away. He watched Dean as he stepped in. He got closer than even the usual invasion of Dean’s personal space, the little radius where only his brother and the angel were allowed (and then with Sam, it was never more than the approach or the retreat of a hug…shit, Sam’s gone, he’s gone)

They were close enough that a deep breath for courage would make the front of their clothes brush, close enough that the smallest tilt forward would push their bodies together. Castiel kept staring at him, waiting for him to put up a hand or back off or make a joke and break the world of silence that made this even possible.

Dean stayed as still as he could. He bent his head just a fraction and waited. Dean could stand still, he could let Cas, but even this close he couldn’t close the distance. Even this close, he didn’t know for sure. Dean sucked in a breath when Castiel swayed in. The heat through their clothes spread over Dean’s skin. The shorter man’s chin came up to meet Dean’s tilt down, still watching until their heads tilted just enough to avoid colliding noses, close enough to feel their breaths on each other’s lips.

Castiel’s eyes slipped closed half a heartbeat after their lips touched, opened again when he drew back to search Dean’s face. His eyebrows were high, worried. His gaze cast down and his lips pinned back, and he was going to apologize. He’d speak, and Dean couldn’t…he couldn’t talk.

Not about this.

Castiel looked up when Dean fumbled a skimming touch over his shoulders. His eyes went wide and so, so blue and he opened his mouth but Dean put a finger over the angel’s lips—

Dear God. An  _angel._  He couldn’t think about that. Not right now. He took his finger away, slid it under Castiel’s chin to tilt his jaw back up and  _he_  closed the gap this time, gentle, careful and silent. Fuck. He was kissing Cas.

The angel stood still for a handful of moments, long enough that Dean stopped. He braced himself for  _I’m sorry_ or  _Wait_  or  _Dean, what are you doing_ (and he would throw that fucking configuration of rings on the floor and fling himself into the pit, swear to God, if Castiel said that.) But Castiel put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and rose up on his toes and kissed back, nuzzling at Dean’s lips with a soft, relieved sigh. His hands spread over Dean’s shoulders and gripped tight. Dean realized that Castiel’s fingers splayed over the mark on Dean’s shoulder and the thought made him sway, a little.

Dean caught Castiel and pulled him close, one hand in the bend of his spine, and the other over the round curve of his ass - Fucking hell, Cas had hidden a gorgeous ass under that trenchcoat. Dean was going too fast. His hands were too low. But Castiel’s answer was a pleased hum while he kissed Dean as if it gave him life and strength. Cas tasted of anise, the silk of his lips bordered by the rasp of beard stubble.

Castiel wanted him. Wanted this, maybe even needed it the way Dean did. Maybe Cas felt a pain he needed to drown and to know he wasn’t alone.

Dean backed Castiel up to his claimed bed and knelt up between the angel’s knees, his hands already on Castiel’s belt while Cas unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way and flung it across the room. Cas scraped Dean’s coat off and the dusty blue work shirt followed. He clawed the black t-shirt off Dean’s back, and raised Dean by the shoulders to kiss him again.

Cas made a frustrated growl when Dean slithered away from his kiss, and gasped when Dean pulled Castiel’s cock free of his opened pants and bent to suck the head. Fuck but he loved the spongy-firm feel of his tongue and lips around the glans, that first taste of slick, clear fluid - not sweet, not bitter, and Cas was sticky with it. Dean hummed and tongued it all up, and listened to Castiel’s shocked gasps and lost moans while he bobbed his head and went deep, relaxed. He smiled around the plump shaft when Castiel’s hips shifted forward, then drew back with a sharp gasp.

Somehow Castiel had learned that such a reaction wasn’t polite.

Dean came up off Castiel’s dick with a final, teasing suck and smiled, put a finger over his lips when Castiel tried to speak again, gave him a wide grin that Dean hoped Castiel understood to mean,  _watch this._

Dean held Castiel’s hips still and he went down again, showing him how far, how much he could take. He knew he was good at this, good at taking it so deep his eyes watered. When Castiel stayed frozen in place, Dean found one of Castiel’s hands and guided it to his head, encouraging, and Castiel let go with a wild-sounding groan. He held Dean’s head and fucked into Dean’s mouth. The springs in the mattress creaked, and Dean subtly raised his head a bit so he wouldn’t have to make Castiel stop because this? Was awesome. He’d pushed an angel to lust. Holy fuck. He had to open his jeans. Had to get his dick in his hand, had to skim his hand over the foreskin and stroke—

Castiel pushed him back and gave him a fierce look. No jacking off, that meant. Castiel got up and retrieved his coat, fumbling through one of the pockets to hand him a small bottle of lube. Dean looked dumbly at the bottle’s purple label and then at Cas, who was toeing out of his shoes in preparation of taking off his pants.

Naked. He wanted to be naked. Castiel was slim and broad shouldered, with long, lean legs and his curving, broad cock. Castiel turned around and slid a knee up on the bed, looking over his shoulder at Dean.

He was looking. Dean couldn’t stop looking.

Castiel sank down to elbows and wide spread knees, and Dean gawked at the one second display, back arched and his ass high (holy fuck, oh goddammit.) Cas sprawled out over the bed, invitation made, and Dean damn near landed on his ass trying to take off his jeans and his boots at the same time. but he was on the bed and kissing his way down Castiel’s spine, and the angel shivered at Dean’s touch, at the drag of Dean’s tongue over feverish skin.

Castiel groaned when Dean kissed the dimples just above his buttocks. He hummed and let Dean spread his legs wider, raised them for the pillow Dean slid underneath. he gasped when Dean dragged a light finger down the crease of his buttocks, and all the sounds and small welcoming motions were making Dean’s dick ache. Dean could spend a day finding out what made Castiel sigh, what made him groan, what made him open his mouth and grunt, what made Cas say Dean’s name.

They didn’t have a day, but they had time.

Dean followed the path his fingers took with his tongue, and Castiel spread his legs wider, rolling his hips and pelvis back and open. Did it feel the same for him? Did the brush of beard stubble spark up his back, did Cas feel that thrill at anticipating —

Dean licked, and Castiel writhed under his tongue. He pushed and Castiel reached back to hold his cheeks apart. Dean kissed and circled the tight furl of Castiel’s ass and Castiel gasped, hips gently moving as his cock found friction underneath him, and Dean couldn’t wait to find out what else Castiel would do. Castiel was open and  rocking on Dean’s tongue, groaning into the mattress, and Dean had never dreamed—oh he’d imagined, but not like this.

Not with their positions switched.

Dean leaned back and Castiel’s protest made him smile. He uncapped the bottle and the sound clicked loud in the quiet room, and Cas stayed still and quiet.

Dean knew what Castiel expected, in that position. He knew what Cas offered, and Dean should probably be all over it. But Dean gently rolled Castiel onto his back and went back to doing what he was good at. This. Dean breathed in sandalwood and salty sweat, and hummed when he had Cas down in his throat.

Cas made a noise that was going in Dean’s spank bank forever. He grabbed at Dean’s hair, hauled Dean partway up, and that got tucked away to remember always. Castiel thrust his hips up in a broken rhythm, fingers rubbing over Dean’s scalp, and Dean took it, lips over his teeth and moaning around Castiel’s cock. This was it. This was better, this was right in a way that he’d never be able to explain.

But Castiel pulled him up again, ignoring Dean’s protest, and rolled him onto his back. Castiel straddled his hips and took the lube from him, pouring a generous puddle of it over Dean’s stomach.

Dean felt the bed spin underneath him but he held onto Cas and kissed back, drew him down to press Dean against the bed. Touching Cas from head to toe was perfect. Everything he wanted. Their legs wound around each other and their cocks slid against each other and Castiel’s voice made every soft noise Dean could ever wish for, between heavy breaths and his rocking hips, all of it was building up. Castiel kissed him and groaned into his mouth and it sounded enough like Dean’s name that he shuddered and flooded the space between them without warning, and Castiel followed after with a hoarse shout.

Castiel raised his head enough to look at Dean, his eyes soft and sated. He gave Dean a little, crooked smile and Dean smiled back. Castiel kissed him again and gave him an apologetic wince as he got up and the mess they made of each other hit cool air.

Castiel went into the bathroom and came back with a wet washcloth, and wouldn’t let Dean clean himself, or rub his own belly with a dry, slightly scratchy motel towel. He walked away again to put them back, and bring Dean a bottle of water from the bag of snacks. He got them under the blankets and held Dean in the darkness, one leg thrown over and one arm draped over Dean’s back as if he was going to sleep too. Dean let Cas cuddle him, then relaxed, his head in the hollow of Castiel’s shoulder and their legs tangled together. He felt heavy, and warm, and he remembered the kiss Castiel pressed to his hairline just before he fell asleep.

Dean dreamed about Sam and woke up choking on a sore throat and the ache of something gone, torn loose too early. Castiel lay with him in the darkness when he woke up, even though angels didn’t sleep. Dean raised his head and peered at Castiel in the dark, saw the shine in his eyes from the light through the window.

Dean hurt. He groped for Castiel and the angel was there, reassuring, steady. Dean should say something. He should ask him why he was still here, why they’d done what they did, what Castiel wanted, if he should turn the car around and go to California, or Flagstaff, if Cas wanted to stay with him.

Castiel’s eyes were focused, his mouth soft as he watched Dean with an angel’s patience. Dean could kiss Castiel again. He knew Cas would let him, that Cas would kiss back. He didn’t know if Castiel would stay.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Dean held the angel’s shoulder as they kissed, gentle but not at all chaste. Cas drew Dean in close and Dean buried his face in Castiel’s neck and shuddered, clung tight and whispered, “I want him back, Cas.”

Castiel drew away. He touched Dean’s cheek, wiped the wetness away with his fingers, and nodded.

When Dean woke up again, daylight streamed through the window, and Castiel was gone.


End file.
